Marked Hetalia (House of NightHetalia crossover)
by pumpkins-and-spice
Summary: Alfred F. Jones was a normal teenager, but how will he deal with things now that he's a newly marked fledgling? (potential pairings: kimchiburger, aka America x South Korea) (Don't worry about the cover photo, it's there until I can poop out a better one u w u ;;)


Alfred F. Jones was an ordinary teenager; emphasis on 'was'. Anyways, he went to highschool, had normal friends, dated girls (and may or may not have had some one night stands with a couple of guys), and celebrated winning a football game by eating at McDonalds (though he ate there everyday anyhow). You catch my drift? Well all of that went away just like _that_. Everything mutated into something completely new. Even his night and day were flip flopped around. The young New Yorker was chosen, you see, chosen by the Goddess of Night herself. As are all vampyres- oops, I'm getting ahead of myself. I musn't give away too much, you'll miss out on all of the fun. Lets go see how our little Alfred is doing; I wonder how he'll react to having his whole lifestyle changed. Do you know, dear reader?

Alfred walked along the an empty street his book bag slung over one of his shoulders and with the opposite hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans. A light sprinkling damped his hair and caused a squelching sounds to resonate throughout the city block due to the rubber of his shoe squishing against the pavement. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were tinted a shade of red because of the cold wind biting at his face. He tried to burrow his nose into the scarf that was wrapped around his neck, but found it unpleasing. The scarf would hinder his ability to breath, so Alfred decided to endure the late September air. Of course, one would think that walking home alone in the streets of New York is dangerous, and it is. But he always took this route home; it was the quickest way. No one ever really bothered him either. Alfred looked down at his feet, listening the the rhythm of his footsteps. Nothing seemed unusual until he heard something similar behind him. Another set of footsteps followed behind him; normally he would brush this off as a regular pedestrian just trying to get someplace but something seemed off. The very thought of the person behind him made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He glanced over his shoulder to find a tall pale figure with a strong build; the stranger's eyes were locked onto Alfred like he was some sort of prey. He didn't hesitate to start bolting towards his apartment complex.

His feet pounded against the concrete; Alfred was sure he'd outrun the strange man, he looked over his shoulder once more with a smirk only to be stopped short with the realization that the stranger...well….he was gone. He just poofed. Alfred slowed down to a jog and eventually came to a stop, never taking his eyes off of the spot where the man once was. "Huh-" Alfred shouldered his bag and turned away to continue walking home.

Alfred pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt when the light sprinkling turned into a heavy downpour. He hurried to the front door of his apartment building; the sound of the rain drowned out most of the usual inner city noises. He swung open the door and bounded up the stairs; Alfred ended up running up four flights of stairs before he reached the floor where his apartment is located on. 14E is his apartment number; the number itself is engraved on a gold plated, and adorned on the apartment door. Alfred pulled out his keys from his jacket pocket, unlocked the door, and let himself in. He dropped his bookbag to the floor and tossed the keys onto the coffee table. The young American perked up to a sudden and suspicious sound coming from the hallway. It sounded as if someone was picking up, and setting picture frames back down. Alfred's mother did that sometimes, out of nostalgia, but she wasn't home. He knew for a fact that she would be at work at this time. And well as for his father, well…. he's out of the picture.

Alfred strained to peek around the corner, trying to see what sort of being was lurking in the hallway and what he saw shocked and frightened him. It was the man from before; the man who creeped after him. A surge of enmity charged through him. How dare he stalk Alfred to his home. How dare he break in and soil every memory with his touch. Alfred shot towards the stranger, he pulled back his fist getting ready to throw a punch. The man, however, caught Alfred's fist with ease; he struggled struggled against the man's grip. Being this close to him, Alfred could now clearly see the crescent shaped tattoo, along with the sapphire tattoos that sprouted from the crescent and framed his face. He'd recognize those symbols anywhere; they belonged to those of the House of Night. When they first arrived in New York (back when America was still a colony), they were thought to be some sort of occult, though that's what they thought in England also. But no, that's not the case. They're vampyres. The newly confirmed vampyre was dressed in all black and wore aviator sunglasses. His hair was cut short and his skin was tinted a light brown; the vampyre also had a very large build, which explained why he attained Alfred so easily. He couldn't understand what this vampyre wanted from him, his blood? The vampyre simply touched his finger to Alfred's forehead; a look of horror twisted onto his face. He's seen this happen many times before. He's seen it happen the most frequently at school, where a herd of fresh teens can be turned into those bloodsuckers within a moments. This vampyre was going to mark him.

"_Alfred F. Jones! Night has chosen thee; thy death will be thy birth. Night calls to thee, hearken to her sweet voice. Your destiny awaits you at the House of Night._"


End file.
